A Time to Run

by J. M. Peace

  Mick stopped a couple of paces from Gerry.

  ‘Thank god you’re here,’ Gerry said, his voice pitching higher than usual.

  Mick took in the man lying flat out in the dirt, the dead dog, the slight shake of Gerry’s hand and the waver in his voice.

  ‘Looks like you could use a hand, mate,’ Mick said evenly.

  ‘Just pulling over was enough, Mick,’ Gerry replied.

  The simple presence of another person boosted his confidence. He hoped it was enough to make the driver on the ground think twice about trying anything stupid. Gerry had a witness now. He had the feeling the other man would not think twice about finishing him off if he had the opportunity.

  He called back over to the driver.

  ‘I’m going to come in and handcuff you now. Put both your hands behind your back. If you’re going to be a fuckwit, I’ll pop you through the head. You’ve used up your chances,’ he said. ‘Just watch for traffic,’ he said to Mick.

  Gerry walked around the back of the driver so he couldn’t see him. He holstered his gun, pulled out his cuffs and dropped heavily, so his knees landed on the driver’s back. He snapped the handcuff on his left hand then his right so he was cuffed to the back. He then immediately checked there was no one else in the cabin of the ute. He reached into the foot well for the rifle. It was loaded, one up the spout. If the man on the ground had been a second faster, or Gerry a second slower, Gerry would be the one face down now. With a bullet through his head.

  He unloaded the rifle and slid it back into the cab of the ute. Whoever inspected the ute might be interested in the gun too. He pocketed the ammo, then he gestured Mick over.

  ‘I’ve got to search him now. Can you just help roll him onto his side so I can go through his pockets and his waistband?’

  A systematic search located a hunting knife tucked into its sheath at the driver’s belt, and then another stuck in the top of his boot covered by his trouser leg.

  ‘Who the hell is this?’ Mick asked.

  Gerry shook his head slightly and didn’t answer. Only now with the search completed did Gerry notice that he had failed to put any gloves on. He had left his fingerprints on all the driver’s weapons.

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered under his breath but it was too late – it was done. He could explain it without looking too stupid. Could he really have done it any other way?

  With Mick’s help, he dragged the driver to his feet and walked him to the police car and shoved him in the back. Gerry surveyed him. He had dirt and small rocks stuck to the side of his face from where he had been lying on the ground. His sunglasses had been knocked off, and his dark eyes were impassive, staring straight ahead. He looked completely unfazed by what had just happened – his dog shot dead, a gun pointed at his head. Only a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead gave any hint that he had been doing anything besides sitting in the car.

  Gerry grabbed the radio and kept his message brief. The driver was in custody and they needed to send a tow truck for the car. As he radioed through his situational report, he watched the slow drip of blood from the ute tray.

  He had to check inside the canopy. The girl might be in there. She might be just injured, not dead, and need immediate help.

  He turned his attention back to the driver.

  ‘What’s in the back of your ute?’ he asked.

  The driver swivelled his head, fixing those soulless eyes on Gerry.

  ‘A kangaroo,’ he replied calmly. ‘I shot a roo. I use it for dog meat.’ He paused, but showed no emotion before correcting himself. ‘I was going to use it for dog meat, but I guess I won’t be needing it now.’

  Gerry felt sick to the pit of his stomach. He turned abruptly from the window and walked towards the back of the ute. He called to Mick to stay by the car and keep watch. Gerry pulled latex gloves from a pouch on his belt and carefully put them on. He could not stall. He pushed down the latch on one side, noticing his hand was shaking slightly. He reached over and pulled the other latch. He lowered the tailgate slowly, checking nothing was going to fall out. A small waterfall of blood was the only thing that escaped. The smell hit him first, carried out on the wave of hot air rushing out of the enclosed space. It was ripe and metallic, and usually reserved for the inside of butchers’ shops.

  He peered inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The first shape he made out was a motorbike strapped upright in place. Then he identified the source of the blood.

  It was a kangaroo. Just like the driver had said. Judging by the amount of blood covering the entire floor pan of the tray, he had put the injured animal in while it was still alive, and let it die slowly in the back, its blood washing away any traces of other crimes. Relief mixed with anger as Gerry peered in and made sure there was nothing else of note in the back of the ute. There was no doubt in his mind that he was dealing with one sick bastard.

  Gerry carefully latched the tailgate back up. It was over to forensics now.

  Gerry looked down and noticed a dark stripe across the top of his pants. He must have bumped against the tray of the ute when he was looking inside and had marked himself with kangaroo blood. Should take the focus off the coffee stain on his shirt though. The whole uniform was going in the bin as soon as he got home. He cursed as he walked back to Mick.

  ‘Did you find the roo?’ the man asked with a slight smirk. In that second, Gerry felt a rush of hatred so intense he couldn’t restrain himself. He just let fly. One punch. A right jab to the centre of the man’s nose. The other man grunted but said nothing. A little more blood was beside the point today. This time it dripped slowly and relentlessly from his left nostril.

  Gerry gestured for Mick to come to the rear of the police car. They leant against the boot, so Gerry could still watch the man in the back seat, but he wouldn’t be able to hear them.

  ‘You didn’t see that, did you, mate?’ Gerry said.

  ‘Nah, mate,’ Mick replied, with a half grin. ‘Who is that cockhead?’

  Gerry realised he hadn’t yet confirmed the identity of the man who had just tried to kill him.

  ‘Shit, I better see if I can find his wallet or something. Can you watch him? Call out if he so much as twitches.’

  ‘Sure, mate,’ Mick replied.

  Gerry walked quickly to the ute. There was a canvas bag in the footwell on the passenger’s side and he located a battered wallet inside. He ignored the man in the backseat as he returned to Mick at the rear of the police car. He slid the driver’s licence out of the wallet.

  ‘Donald Charles Black.’ The name matched the BOLO.

  ‘They think he’s kidnapped a policewoman. He sicced that dog onto me.’ Gerry gestured to the mound of dog flesh on the dirt. ‘If I hadn’t already seen the blood dripping out of the tray and drawn my gun, it would have ripped my throat out. I wouldn’t have had time to do anything. Then he went for the rifle, just before you came. He would have shot me in a second if he had the chance.’

  He gave an involuntary shudder. ‘I can’t believe what just happened. You’re a fucken legend for pulling over.’

  Mick clapped a hand against Gerry’s shoulder blade, and squeezed a tough man’s hug. ‘No worries. Sometimes coppers need a hand too, hey.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Gerry took a deep breath and tried to centre himself. ‘I’ll have to wait for the tow truck, and then take this arsehole to the watchhouse at Emerald.’

  ‘Fuck, if you hadn’t already snotted him, I think I would,’ Mick said.

  Gerry felt deeply grateful for that offhand comment.

  The tow truck took long enough for Gerry’s nerves to settle and his brain to kick in again. He activated the digital recorder he kept in his shirt pocket. He should record anything the other man said, it might provide some evidence for the detectives. He went around to the side window, his emotions in check.

  ‘Donald Charles Black, you are u
nder arrest for the kidnapping of Samantha Willis. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used as evidence in a court. You’ll have the opportunity to telephone or speak with a friend or lawyer when we get back to the watchhouse,’ he said in an even monotone.

  The other man made no sign that he had even heard him. Gerry opened the rear door. He knelt on the back seat and caught the sour whiff of sweat and grime from the other man. He reached past Black to pull his seatbelt across him and clip it in, more as another restraint rather than for duty of care.

  As he reached past him, Black blew air out of his nose. Specks of blood sprayed across the sleeve of Gerry’s shirt.

  Dirty fucker. Remembering that all this was being recorded now, Gerry simply used his shoulder to push the man’s head against the headrest and let his body weight fall onto the man’s face. He already had blood on his shirt. The quantity was a moot point. Gerry pressed hard for a moment, then rolled forward and felt the nose click as he moved off the man’s face. No sound came from Black.

  Gerry held his breath until he was out of the rear of the car. He spat on the ground, sickened by the mere sight of the man. Gerry nodded to Mick and they both climbed into their vehicles. He adjusted the rear-vision mirror so he could regularly check on the man in the back.

  Neither man said anything for the hour-and-a-half trip to the watchhouse.

  Sunday 11:59 am

  A ripple of excitement passed through the operation room as the news came through. The barman had been located. It was a huge breakthrough. Janine’s breath caught in her throat as she considered the possibilities. There might be physical evidence, DNA in his ute, scratches on his body. He might make admissions or he might lie to send them in the wrong direction. There were so many possibilities, any of which may point to Sammi’s location and fate.

  The burning question in the office was who would interview Black.

  Not only could a clever interviewer elicit the best information, but there would be a certain prestige if enough could be found to charge him immediately in such an important and high profile case. If successfully solved and completed this investigation would shine on any officer’s résumé and factor in promotions for years to come.

  Janine wanted it so badly, it hurt. This investigation had completely consumed her. Right from the very first call, she had sensed the importance of this job and pursued every avenue with tenacity. She felt intimately tied to the investigation and to not be able to follow it through would be utter torment.

  Bill knew this, of course. But both Bill and Janine knew it would take her hours to drive out to Emerald. Even if she managed to organise a flight, it would mean precious minutes ticking away, minutes that counted for Sammi.

  ‘It’s going to have to be someone from Emerald,’ Bill said. ‘I’m sure there’s a detective out there with enough experience to do a good job. We can run another interview later, but while there’s any chance Sammi’s still alive, we need to get what information we can as soon as possible.’

  It was a reasonable proposal.

  Janine shook her head, staring intently at the carpet.

  ‘I’ve got to do it,’ she muttered. She looked up at Bill and raised her voice slightly. ‘I’ll get out there one way or another, but you’ve got to let me do the interview,’ she said firmly.

  ‘It’s going to take too long,’ he argued. ‘The quicker someone talks to him, the faster this investigation is going to move forward.’

  ‘I agree, but I can bring something to this interview that no one else can. I know every tiny detail of this investigation. That’s where he’s going to be caught out – on the details. That’s where the lies are going to show. You know that. And I’m the one who knows enough to pick up on the little lies. I’ve got enough experience. One of the Emerald boys can sit in with me. You know it’s our best chance of cracking him. What we might lose in a little time, we’re going to gain in the quality of information,’ Janine said with conviction.

  She believed that. She just had to convince Bill.

  Bill sighed. ‘You’re going to bust a gut getting out there, and then he probably won’t talk anyway. And you’ll be stuck out in the arse-end of nowhere, when the investigation’s being driven from here. We need you here.’

  ‘I’ve got to do it,’ Janine repeated. ‘I want to see him. I’ve got to look him in the eye when he’s answering my questions. See what he’s lying about. You know I’m the best person to do the interview.’

  Bill paused. He shook his head.

  ‘You won’t get any overtime or travel allowance. Nothing. This one’s on you,’ Bill said.

  Janine tried not to smile. She knew he was relenting.

  ‘I know. This is my choice and at my own expense,’ Janine said.

  ‘OK. Better get cracking then,’ Bill said. ‘Time is of the essence. I’ll ring and let them know you’re coming.’

  Janine gave him a genuine smile as she walked out of the room, already fishing her phone out of her pocket. She had no idea how far away Emerald was, and this was the first thing she tapped into Google.

  Over 900 kilometres.

  Shit. She hadn’t realised it was quite so far. She’d have to find a flight. There was no way they could wait for her to drive. She kept tapping at her phone as she made her way out of the office. She wondered if she could hitch a ride on the police airwing. Did she know anyone who owned a plane?

  But to her surprise, there were regular flights from Brisbane to Emerald. If she told them to save her a seat, went directly to the airport and did a bit of badge-flipping to speed her way through, she could be there in a couple of hours. The downside was that this little exercise, which may turn out to be futile, would cost her hundreds of dollars.

  She hardly gave it a thought. This was the upside to being married to The Job. No one else cared if she blew a week’s pay on a wild goose chase. No one was waiting for her to come home and she had very little social life to put on hold. She drove out to the airport with the case file and her

  handbag.

  On the way, she called Jake. He had been in on this since the beginning. He should be given the opportunity at least.

  ‘Hey, how are you going, Neeny?’ he asked.

  ‘Did you hear? Black’s been caught, he’s out at Emerald,’ she replied.

  ‘Shit. Really? What a breakthrough,’ he said, his voice animated.

  ‘I’m headed out to the airport. I’m flying out to do the interview,’ she said.

  ‘They’re flying you out?’ he asked, incredulously.

  ‘No,’ Janine answered. ‘I’m flying myself out. I’ve got to talk to him. Do you want to come too?’ she asked.

  ‘You want me to haul arse out to the airport, then pay for a flight to Emerald?’ he clarified.

  He sounded astonished. Janine suddenly felt the need to justify herself to her junior in a way he could understand. ‘This is the biggest job of my career. I’m going to do it,’ she told him.

  ‘Yeah, fair enough. Thanks for the offer. Of course I’m interested, but not that much. You’re on your own there. Good on you for following through, though,’ he added. ‘I hope you can nail the pinch. Let me know how you go.’

  ‘OK. Just thought I’d ask,’ Janine said.

  She hung up, thinking she shouldn’t have bothered. Who else would want to spend a stack of money to go talk to a crook? She had made this so personal. She should keep a professional distance, get some perspective.

  She should. But there was no way she was turning back now.

  Sunday 12:03 pm

  Tom called Gavin with the news. They had found the man who had most likely taken Sammi, but there was no sign of her, good or bad. The man would be interviewed and there would be a forensic examination of his ute. Tom seemed to think they would get more answers from the ute than from the man.

  Gavin felt
like someone was sitting on his chest, squashing so much air out of him that he could hardly breathe. The suspect had been found and there was no trace of Sammi. This was a huge blow. If she was alive, surely he would have her with him?

  Despite everything he now knew, everything the police had uncovered, Gavin could not believe the worst had happened. The Sammi he knew and loved would have fought, she would have left a mark on him, she would have out-thought and out-manoeuvred him. He had to believe it, he had nothing else. Sammi could not be dead. The world would be a different place without her in it – surely he would feel that?

  He continued to keep Sammi’s parents up to date. Patrick talked about driving out to Angel’s Crossing but Gavin said there was no point. There was nothing they could do but wait. The tension was unbearable as it was. Having Sammi’s mum there in person would make things worse, compound the anxiety. They would not draw strength from each other.

  His heart pounded every time he rang them, hoping it would be Patrick who answered. So far, he had not spoken to Juleen since that first call. Patrick had tried to smooth things over but Gavin knew Juleen blamed him and he resigned himself to that. He had done the same with Candy, laid the blame on her. At a time like this, it was easier to focus anger on someone tangible.

  Gavin could only offer the same tiny morsels of hope to Patrick that the police gave him. He had nothing more. If there was a final conclusive phone call to be made, it would not be by him. He could never utter the words ‘Sammi’s dead’ to her parents.

  Sunday 1:39 pm

  ‘Hello, Crime Stoppers. This is Constable Tracey Snell.’

  ‘Hello, this is Graham Tunney. I have some information in relation to the missing police officer.’

  The man spoke decisively and firmly. If this was another shit call, at least it wouldn’t take too long. This guy was to the point. As she often did, Tracey imagined what the caller might look like. In his sixties, neatly trimmed white beard, polo shirt, a bit like her uncle Jim.

  ‘Yes, go ahead please.’

  ‘Last May, over the Labour Day long weekend, I went hunting in the bush with my son-in-law, Daniel Timms and his brother, Jamie. We were gone for two nights, camping and tracking. It’s more for fun than for sport, just a boys’ weekend out. We were out in a place called Captain’s Creek State Forest. It’s about an hour out of Tara.’